


Grieving

by Attenia



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attenia/pseuds/Attenia
Summary: After Gandalf's death, once the Fellowship makes its way safely to Lothlorien, Aragorn and Legolas must find a way to grieve for him. Together, the two friends find a way to move forward past their pain.





	Grieving

A/N:  
I’ve been told that I write Legolas too clingy and weepy in my fics, so I’m trying out doing it a bit differently in this one. Let me know what you think and which you prefer!

Aragorn’s jaw was so tight that he felt sure he’d have to ask Legolas to pry it open when he finally had to speak. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, marching toward Lothlorien. There wasn’t time for grieving, not now. First, he had to make sure the party was safe.  
He glanced over his shoulder. Legolas was bringing up the rear. To anyone else, the elf might appear stoic, but Aragorn knew his best friend well enough to see that the prince was in just as much pain as the rest of them. Gandalf’s loss felt like too much to bear, but there was no choice other than to bear it.  
The next few hours passed in a blur. Finally, he found himself on a platform among the trees with the rest of the Fellowship, having been welcomed by the elves of Lothlorien. Aragorn couldn’t sit still. Many of the others were crying and clinging to each other, but that wasn’t what he needed.  
“Legolas. Spar with me?”  
The prince’s eyes lit up with relief. “Yes.”  
Haldir found them some blunted practice swords, and they went to the ground, attacking each other with a ferocity that had the clanging of metal carrying throughout the entire forest. Aragorn put all of his pain into his attack, all of his grief and horror.  
Their battle soon attracted a small crowd of onlookers.  
“What are they doing?” Pippin hissed to Boromir.  
“Grieving,” the man said simply.  
“Grieving? They look like they’re trying to kill each other!”  
“They are warriors. This is how they express their pain. Come on, let’s give them some space. That’s right, all of you, nothing to see here, let’s go.”  
Aragorn would have to thank Boromir later. For now, he focused on dodging a vicious jab from Legolas, retaliating with a swiping cut that forced the elf to leap aside to avoid the blow. With anyone else, Aragorn would have had to use caution when sparring this way, but he trusted Legolas’ skills as a warrior. The elf could defend himself, and Aragorn could truly let go.  
Legolas was just as unrestrained in his attack, putting everything into it, trusting his friend to keep up.  
Images flashed before Aragorn’s eyes. He saw Gandalf falling. He wondered if he could have saved the wizard if he’d only acted sooner. A violent thrust hit Legolas hard in the side, but the elf twisted away, deflecting the worst of the blow, soon returning with an attack of his own.  
They fought for hours, and were soon streaked with sweat and dirt, and covered in bruises. Aragorn was aching all over, but his heart felt lighter, as though the inner pain had moved from his mind to his body. It was no longer eating him alive from within.  
When he finally fell to his knees in exhaustion, Legolas did the same, panting for breath. Wordlessly, they embraced tightly. Aragorn felt a few tears escaping into his friend’s hair, and Legolas was taking deep, shuddering breaths, his shoulders trembling slightly.  
They broke apart, sharing a look that needed no words. Aragorn could see the relief on Legolas’ face, a relief he felt just as strongly. They’d put everything into the fight, and now, the pain of Gandalf’s death was eased, at least a little. It didn’t feel as crushing as it had before.  
They would no doubt be grieving their friend’s death for years, but for now, this small step in expressing their pain was enough.  
“Is there a place we can wash?” Legolas asked quietly.  
“Yes, there’s a stream, this way.” Aragorn had been here before and knew his way around relatively well. They walked in silence to the stream, undressing and slipping into the cold water. Aragorn sighed as the cool soothed the worst of his bruises. He and Legolas tossed a cake of soap between them, and Aragorn presented his back to his friend, waiting for the prince to wash it before returning the favor.  
They were soon dressed in clean clothes and found an empty platform, where they settled down for the night. Aragorn spread a salve over the worst of Legolas’ bruises before the elf insisted on doing the same for him.  
Aragorn winced as his friend’s hands lightly brushed over a particularly deep bruise on his shoulder, that he could tell would be a spectacular color come morning.  
“Sorry,” Legolas murmured, softening his touch, his fingers feather light as he finished spreading the salve.  
Haldir dropped by and gave them some lembas, which they ate quietly. Finally, they sat side by side, staring up at the stars.  
“Did you ever have a chance to see any of Mithrandir’s fireworks at the winter or summer solstice festivals?” Legolas asked. “He had special ones he only used for solstice celebrations.”  
“Yes.” Aragorn smiled at the memory. “They were truly breathtaking. Remember that time when he used his fireworks to distract the bunch of trolls who had us so that we could escape?”  
“Oh yes, that was the first time your father had to send him to rescue us. Too bad it wasn’t the last. I always wondered how he managed to get to us so quickly when those orcs had us tied up in the trees…”  
For many an hour, they talked about Gandalf and their various happy memories of him. Legolas didn’t comment when Aragorn started sniffling, simply handing him a handkerchief. When the elf’s breathing started hitching again, Aragorn put an arm around his friend’s waist. Legolas rested his head on the man’s shoulder, his breathing slowly calming.  
“What happens to Maia after they die?” Aragorn asked eventually.  
“I don’t know. Obviously, they go to Valinor, but beyond that, I am not sure. Hopefully it’ll be a long time before I have occasion to find out.”  
“It had better be. I’m not ready to lose you.”  
“I will never be ready to lose you, mellon nin.”  
Aragorn nodded, tightening his arm around his friend’s waist. “Do you think we’ll survive this quest?”  
“I do not know. I do know that when I arrive in Valinor, whenever that may be, if you are not there, I am taking the first boat out and hauling your sorry hide from whatever realms men you’re in back to your family, where you belong.”  
“Ada would have no quarrel with you there. I do not think you need to worry. Gandalf is in Valinor now, remember. I think he’d have quite a few things to say about it if I wasn’t brought there when the time comes, mortal or not.”  
“Those are some fireworks that would be worth seeing,” Legolas murmured.  
Aragorn chuckled. “True, as long as you are not on the receiving end.”  
The two of them remained lost in their reminiscing, sometimes laughing, sometimes bowing their heads in sadness. Aragorn breathed deeply, staring around at the beauty of Lothlorien. He was glad they were here. The place reminded him of home, and it lifted his heart.  
The sky was just lightening when Legolas nodded off against his shoulder. Unwilling to move, Aragorn let his head fall to the side, resting on top of the prince’s. He closed his eyes, and, heart lifted, allowed himself to drift off.  
No one mentioned their sparring match, nor commented when Aragorn and Legolas took two practice swords from Lothlorien. The quest went on, but Gandalf’s memory remained with them, and that pain was slow to fade.  
Sometimes, the hobbits would huddle together, sharing their misery. He’d caught Boromir and Gimli off alone a couple of times, crying quietly and privately.  
Aragorn and Legolas sparred. The Fellowship learned to leave them in peace when they did so, understanding that it was simply the two friends’ way of expressing their pain. Legolas never complained once when Aragorn accidentally dislocated his shoulder, nor did Aragorn raise a fuss over his broken toe. Some pains were better to feel on the outside than from within.  
On quiet nights when neither of them could sleep, he and Legolas would speak of Gandalf, or of their various adventures before the Fellowship, or perhaps of nothing at all, simply enjoying the peace of each other’s company.  
It would take time and many more days of grieving, but Aragorn knew that they would recover. And someday, he was sure, he would see Gandalf again.


End file.
